


Blood Dimmed Tide

by beanside, nilchance



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Retriever-verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 04:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7742893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanside/pseuds/beanside, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set hundreds of years after the fall of the world, small cities rely on genetically engineered Retrievers, warriors who go into the wasteland to scrounge for supplies.  Within the City, Retrievers are feared for their enhanced temper, ruthless nature and sexual appetite.</p><p>Assisting them in their missions are Librarians, trained from birth to access the data stream and provide intel--and any service their Retriever should require.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood Dimmed Tide

**Now**

Jeff thought of fucking Jensen long before he did it.

His hesitation was an aberration. Retrievers and their Librarians worked long hours in close contact. It was the Librarian's job to serve and inform, staying up late in the Retriever's home to brief them on the necessary research. You had to trust your Librarian; it was their knowledge that you spoke to warlords and smugglers, their maintenance of your weapons that kept them from misfiring or locking, their care that patched wounds and kept you alive. It was an intimate thing, that trust. It asked more of them than soldiers in the trenches, spouses at the altar: this is your other half, and they will bring you home.

Other Retrievers had gone there before. God knew, whenever Jeff tripped over one of his own kind, that was what they talked about once the usual macho shop talk had been covered. 'How's your El?' came in the same breath as 'revolver or pistol?', and for good damn reason. There was usually a bit of griping about irritating habits, but it always came down to affection. Librarians took care of their Retrievers in every way they could. Kept them fed, content, sane. Sex was part of 'other duties as assigned', unofficial but encouraged. The less Retrievers went into the outside world, the better; it was no accident that they were asked about orientation in the psych evals, and then paired off with the gender they were most likely to want. It was no accident that Librarians tended towards pretty. Maybe they let their Retrievers dress them, which was a new level of twisted, or maybe there was an archive of slutwear trends in the uplink, but most Els dressed like they were coming off a fashion shoot. That, too, seemed like part of their job.

Jensen wasn't pretty. At least, not like that.

Jeff paused outside his apartment door and took a minute. He'd been winding down from the mission on the return trip and through processing after he crossed the border, but he always took this last pause. He'd survived another run, brought back another batch of supplies and old tech. It was okay to roll a little more of the killing tension out of his shoulders, unclench his fists, and breathe in the scents of dinner and fresh coffee. Once he felt steady, he unlocked the door and smiled.

Last time he saw his apartment, it was a wreckage of papers and takeout containers. Jensen had been cleaning the place again, and it looked like something out of a catalog. Golden light spilled out of the kitchen and in small, shivering spheres around lit candles. (Small bodies, ribs cracked open above the firepits, fat spitting as it hit metal-- Jesus, no, all that stayed in the field. It had to.) Books were stacked neatly. Quiet piano and guitar played on Jeff's stereo, one of the few serene CDs Jeff owned, and beneath it Jeff could hear the sink running over dirty dishes. From here, Jeff couldn't see out the kitchen windows to the fence, the campfires in the wasteland. It almost felt normal. Setting his luggage down, Jeff called, "Jensen?"

The faucet turned off, and Jensen appeared in the doorway. His suit was newer, gray and tailored to every curve, buttoned up and strapped down tight. His hands were still wet from the dishes, cuffs unbuttoned to show the pale insides of his wrists, before Jensen remembered himself and did them up again. When he looked down, his expression flickered with relief, gone before Jeff could decide if it was a trick of the light. "Are you hurt?"

"Bruises. I'm fine. Jen," Jeff said, pulling his luggage out of the way before Jensen could take it, "I've got it. Really."

Jensen searched his face, one hand still outstretched to take Jeff's bag. This close, Jeff smelled Jensen's soap, something crisp and clean. After the stench of metal and blood on the run, all Jeff wanted was to press his face against the curve of Jensen's throat and breathe him in.

The song switched. Jeff realized he was standing too close, staring too long. He was the Retriever, able to touch whenever he wanted, but Jensen radiated nerves. They were a hell of a pair: a skittish El and a damaged Retriever.

Jensen's throat worked beneath the high, buttoned collar of his shirt. He looked down, chin dipping until Jeff could see the perfect line of his part, the vulnerable pale of his scalp. Jeff's hands itched to run through Jensen's hair and muss it up, leave it sticking in chaotic spikes. Beneath the barrier of Jensen's glasses, his eyelashes were unexpectedly lush. His lips pursed, probably revving up to offer sex again, then relaxed as he apparently thought better of it. "Do you plan to go out again?"

"Nah. I'm in for the night." Rubbing the back of his neck, Jeff gave the closest approximation of a laugh as he could. It usually took a few days for words to come back after a mission. Too much adrenaline, letting out the rage that lived in his gut and marked him Retriever. The wasteland was better passed through quietly, no sudden sounds to attract predator attention. "Probably tomorrow and the next, too. It was a rough one."

A rough one. Small words for the horror that pushed against Jeff's throat. He used to talk his old Librarian's ear off after a mission, endless attempts to understand until he finally realized that there was no way to wrap his mind around it. He was sane, and that itself kept him from understanding what he saw outside.

Sane being a relative word for a Retriever. Deep down, they were all predators. Not much better than the animalistic Cybers that lived in the wasteland. Barely leashed, their Librarians standing between them and the general population that feared them even as they relied on the technology and supplies the Retrievers procured.

"Do you want me to stay?" Jensen asked, eyes still lowered. He looked tired again, the urge to toss him in bed and hold him there tweaking Jeff's already raw nerves. It might've been a strange question, considering that Jensen lived in his apartment specifically so he could be around for nights like these, but Jeff didn't doubt that Jensen could serve and make himself scarce.

"Please." The word jerked up Jeff's throat like coughing blood, raw and unstoppable. "Yes. Stay."

Jensen glanced up at him, and Jeff didn't want to know what Jensen read on his face. Whatever it was, Jensen wet his lower lip, then stepped closer. He didn't move to embrace Jeff, and Jeff didn't back up; they spent an awkward moment shifting for balance, too close and still operating in two different worlds. Then Jeff held his arms out and Jensen moved into them, like a bullet sliding into its chamber.

The shudder of his own body took Jeff by surprise. It seemed strange that Jensen could be engulfed in anything as simple as a hug, taking up more space in Jeff's head than in his arms. Jeff rested a hand on Jensen's back, against the hard wing of his shoulder blade. Jensen held very still, barely breathing, his forehead not quite against Jeff's shoulder. Jen had always seemed brittle, fragile and cool as the bone china he served coffee from, but he was warm against Jeff now.

Jeff breathed with Jensen, slow and shallow, and felt the horror drawn away like poison from a wound. Once he was steady, once he could imagine letting go, Jeff stroked his fingertips up to the back of Jensen's neck. When he found bare skin, soft against the cool fabric of Jensen's suit, it burnt his fingers.

Jensen exhaled and let his head bump against Jeff's shoulder. Baring more of his neck for Jeff's touch. Accepting. Submitting. Jeff could take him now, strip away the suit and the glasses, bend him over the back of the couch and see what it'd take to make him scream--

Jeff turned away so sharply that Jensen staggered, his pupils blown wide with alarm. Jeff didn't stop to steady him, didn't stop until he'd walked away and into the relative safety of the bathroom. He slammed the door shut, dropped back against it, and set his jaw against a snarl of sheer animal frustration.

Every thudding heartbeat drummed out his, his, his. It pounded in his head, in his blood, in the darkness behind his eyes as Jeff undid his jeans. When he stripped his cock with hard, fast strokes, he thought of green eyes and bare wrists, the vulnerable nape of a freckled neck. The way blood would surface under his teeth. Bruises in the shape of Jeff's fingers, ringing Jensen's wrists like bracelets. When Jeff came, the violence spilled into his fist and left him drained and shaky.

Jensen was his. His to protect. Even if from Jeff himself.

******

Unacceptable.

Jensen met his own eyes in the mirrored door of Jeff's closet. The fever in his face had finally calmed, making him look less like he was in heat. It hadn't stopped the frantic rhythm of his blood, pulling and pushing against the seams until it'd tear him apart, but he wouldn't tempt Jeff now. He'd put fresh clothes by the door, food on the table, and stay close enough that Jeff's instincts were satisfied without triggering another...

Episode. Embrace. Collision. Jensen knew plenty of words to describe what they were being pulled towards, but not one way to explain why his hands still shook as he smoothed fine lines out of his suit jacket. It had been an echo of tapping into a datastream without that first bite of pain. Sensory input instead of information, a chaos with no goal. Jeff wouldn't let him serve. No culmination, no solution, no endgame, no--

In the mirror, Jensen saw the data-port in his neck pulsing red. He'd connected to the uplink again, a thread winding through the back of his thoughts bleeding poison and three dollar words. He slapped the connection down and the light died away. His breathing came hard enough to fog the mirror.

He'd uplinked without thinking, instinctual as breathing. Three times since Jeff was gone. He'd hooked himself in and drifted, nearly drowned before he even noticed that the ground was lost beneath his feet. If anyone found out it'd be back to the care facility, back to drugs and padded walls. That assumed that they'd even bother pulling him back from the datastream.

Dragged along in the current forever, a ghost in the machine.

Shuddering, Jensen closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror. He should wait until there was no chance of discovery, but he could feel himself losing pieces as he shook apart. He pulled his shirt out of his pants, rucking it up around his ribs, and reached back with fumbling fingers.

His fingers brushed silk, stays, and found the ties of the corset. He shook harder as he untied the knot, hating the old feeling of threatening disintegration; the corset held him together, kept his ribs a cage around his heart. For a terrifying moment, he thought he might drop the ties, but they stayed wrapped around his fingers as he pulled the stays tighter, tighter, tighter. The stays bit bruises into his sides, creaking their song. Jensen sucked in a shallow breath, lightness sweeping through him like benediction. He sank gratefully against the mirror and drank in calm, one moment of peace. Then he knotted himself together again.

The room was quiet. The shower kept running. Jensen breathed, tucked in his shirt, and picked up a rag for the mirror. Soon it was clean again.

When the madness finally took him, he wouldn't even leave a fingerprint behind.


	2. Ceremony Of Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then

**Then**

"Librarian Calliope? The Administrator will see you now," a soft, soothing feminine voice murmured across the void of the uplink.

His last chance to run. Jensen stood and began walking slowly towards the Administrator's office. Smooth, easy. No odd movements, no trace of nerves or fear. Nothing to give them any reason to retire him. Every inch of his posture had to radiate how well he'd rehabbed.

No matter how many times he'd met the Administrator, Jensen still found himself taken aback by the man's extensive cybernetic implants. They all had a certain amount of implants. Access ports came with the territory when you served. But the Administrator...he was a different breed.

Bracing himself, Jensen looked up into the Administrator's brushed steel features, trying to read emotion in the still-human eyes that laid under the impassive face. It didn't help that the Administrator's desk was on a platform, giving him the psychological advantage and a perfect view to catch Jensen if he got caught in the uplink mid-interview.

"Good afternoon, Librarian Calliope. Please, have a seat." With a wave of his hand, the Administrator indicated the chair in front of his desk.

"Greetings, Administrator." Jensen sat gracefully in the chair, forcing down any reaction as his hand touched the cold metal. Too much like the ones in the Care Unit--screams and cold, pain, always pain, floating in it, fighting the tide of the Uplink, trying to tear his self away--Jensen put a calm smile on his lips, cutting off that line of thought before it could overwhelm him.

"Your Unit Nurse seems to think you're ready to go back into the field," the Administrator said, watching Jensen's face. His concern was cloying as he laid out the trap. "Do you feel ready?"

"I think she's quite right," Jensen murmured, voice placid. "I am ready to serve, sir."

"Good for you." The Administrator picked up a file, smiling. "As it happens, we have just the Retriever for you. I think you'll make an excellent match."

Already? Fuck. He'd expected a few weeks in the Librarian pool, helping out here and there until he had healed. More the fool, he, for expecting kid gloves. The emotional demands of a match, after Weatherly... they were testing him to destruction, and probably getting rid of a troublesome Retriever in the process. Jensen kept his smile in place. "Thank you for the honor, Administrator."

"It's certainly nothing," the Administrator demurred, but his posture radiated the pleasure of a well-fed mouser. "He's a very well-regarded Retriever. Lost his Librarian just over six months ago. Unfortunate incident, that."

Jensen couldn't stop himself from blinking in reaction. Six months without someone to soothe down that killing temper, to bank the rage that simmered just below the surface? Great Athena help him, that did not bode well. And what was an "unfortunate incident," anyway? Had he killed his Librarian? It wouldn't be the first time a Retriever had snapped. Wouldn't even be the hundredth.

"Yes. No way around it, not after-" The Administrator shook his head. "Anyway, we think you'll match up well with him."

He could do this. He prove to them he wasn't damaged, just another functional Librarian to be led to the slaughter. "Who is my match?"

"Retriever Bia."

Bia? Personification of violence and rage, Bia? Oh, wonderful. He was going to die. Jensen felt the itch at the back of his thoughts, the pressure of the Uplink battering at him. The clothes weren't working anymore. The tie couldn't be tight enough, couldn't keep him grounded, too easy to let it in, to--

"Librarian Calliope?"

"Excuse me, sir. Retriever Bia, sir." Since Retrievers were defined by violence, their codenames had a tendency towards irony. Particularly considering what Retriever Cupid did to that civilian in Quartertown. Being named after a Fury or a martial deity was both a sign of respect and a warning to others. Amazing that Bia had lasted even six months to begin with. "When will I meet my charge?"

"As soon as you can gather your things." The Administrator slid a small data pack to him. "All of the information is there. Security codes for your new apartment, basic information on your Retriever. Do us proud, Librarian Calliope."

****

They assigned a Supervisor to accompany Jensen to the Introduction Room at the Retriever's Citadel. Officially, the Supervisor came along to activate the transceiver and input the codes that would link Retriever and Librarian. Unofficially, Jensen had no doubt he was being observed for the slightest flinch. Despite the cheery name, the Introduction Room was as cold and sterile as it had been when Jensen met Weatherly. The sparse furniture hadn't been replaced.

The drain in the center of the floor was newly clean, given away by the smell of bleach; the last Introduction had gone poorly. Jensen wondered if the last Retriever who had been here had rejected his new Librarian or chosen to consummate immediately. Either way, blood was spilled.

He hadn't heard any keening through the uplink. The Librarian was either very well-trained or too badly hurt to salvage.

After a few moments of sitting beside the Supervisor, listening to the shuffle of papers and trying to quiet his own heart, the door opened. It was always a gamble then: some Retrievers hated eye contact, while others found averted eyes an insult. Jensen glanced up, his face carefully tipped down, and caught a glimpse of his Retriever. Tall, dark hair, rumpled clothes. No weapons. Why would a man codenamed Bia bother with guns?

"Retriever Bia," the Supervisor said. There was a nervous edge behind his courtesy. "Thank you for joining us."

Bia pulled one of the chairs around and sat, stretching long legs in front of him. His boots were scuffed with road dust. His voice was deep with the shadow of a low-class accent. "You people didn't give me much of a choice."

The hair raised on the back of Jensen's neck. His Retriever was not only violent, but under coercion to take a Librarian. The danger kept escalating. He kept his mouth shut, but when he risked another glance, Bia caught his eyes and said, "I'm guessing they didn't ask you about this, either."

Shit. He'd given something away. Jensen met Bia's dark eyes and said, "I regret burdening you, Retriever Bia. My name is Librarian Calliope. I will try to please you as I can."

Jensen had trained extensively in counseling and service, but he couldn't define Bia's expression. Displeasure? He could only hope not.

"It's not Bia here," Bia said finally. "My name is Jeff."

Out of the corner of his sight, Jensen saw the Supervisor's sharp stare. Bia wouldn't be reprimanded for a breach in propriety, but any answering slip would be documented in Jensen's file. Caught between the drain on the floor and his memory of the Care Unit, Jensen could only say, "As you wish."

The silence gaped between them.

"May I continue?" the Supervisor asked.

Bia nodded, never taking his eyes off Jensen even when the Supervisor's chair scraped loudly on the floor as he rose. Other Retrievers sat tense, muscles flexed for constant action. Bia leaned back in his chair, the predator at rest. He badly needed a shave. When the Supervisor mumbled a warning before touching the transceiver at Bia's throat, Jensen could smell the stink of the man's fear. He couldn't imagine how Bia was drowning in it, how his instincts had to be screaming, but Bia didn't lash out through the invasive, unpleasant process that was importing a password. His eyes rested on Jensen's face, a hot weight pinning Jensen in place. The corner of Bia's eyes crinkled as the Supervisor breached his transceiver, tearing through scar tissue to activate it again.

In a moment, Bia would have access to Jensen. He could track location, emotional states, physical condition. Jensen exhaled, projecting calm like a shield, and savored the last crumbs of privacy. The Supervisor didn't bother warning him, simply braced his hand against Jensen's shoulder and pressed the key to his transceiver. There was a pop, like air pressure equalizing, and it was done. Only two steps remaining.

Holding Bia's eyes for another second -- would the man never stop staring?--, Jensen stood and began to undo his jacket, then his shirt. He left the tie where it was, bestowing an insane calm as long as Jensen could manage to keep it. The Supervisor had turned his face away by then, of course; only a fool stared at a Retriever's property, prospective or not, with a covetous eye. Only Bia was meant to see what he was receiving before he agreed to accept.

Jensen had just unbuttoned the last shirt button and was reaching for the fastener to his pants when Bia moved. He felt only the drag of air past him and heard a pair of dull thumps, followed by a pained gasp. Jensen looked up as Bia came to his feet and stalked past Jensen, smooth and lazy as a mountain cat. Jensen turned his head, feeling like he was struggling under deep water, and saw the Supervisor pinned to the wall by two thin stilettos, one in each shoulder.

Bia stopped in front of the Supervisor, lips curled back from his teeth. If he'd been aiming to kill, the Supervisor would have been dead before he hit the ground. Jensen considered stepping in to stop Bia, to calm him, but the damage had been done. He would intercede if necessary, saving his somewhat pathetic charms to prevent homicide instead of assault. They would forgive Bia roughing up staff; it was civilians that concerned the Administrators.

The Supervisor made a sharp, frantic noise. Fucking idiot, he was only making Jeff's rage worse by reacting like pinned prey. Bia lifted his hand, a flash of silver between his long fingers drawing Jensen's attention. "One," Jeff said, sounding bored. "Librarian Calliope is not public property, and you will keep your eyes to yourself. Two. He's perfect, and you goddamn well know it. How long have your little mice been watching me?"

Instinct drew Jensen's hand towards Jeff's shoulder. Jeff glanced at him sidelong, inscrutable. Jensen pulled back, unsure of what to do. The cold edge in Bia's voice didn't bode well for the Supervisor.

"Retriever Bia," the Supervisor began. Too close to a rebuke. Silver flashed, and the Supervisor screamed pitiously. Jensen stepped closer, trying to see, and edged back when Jeff didn't acknowledge the brush of Jensen's body against his arm. The touch wasn't welcome.

When Bia lifted his bloody hand, something rested in the palm. Raising his voice to be heard over the Supervisor's wail, Jeff said, "If I ever catch any of your people watching me again, I'll be back for the other one."

His eye, Jensen realized. He'd taken the Supervisor's eye. Cool light swept through Jensen, left him dizzy.

"And if anyone so much as glances at what's mine..." Bia let the word trail off, then closed his hand on the eye. Jensen averted his eyes, but he still heard the wet pop. "Do you understand?"

The Supervisor whimpered. "Report you, I'll--"

Teeth bared in a gentle smile, Bia laid a hand on the Supervisor's shoulder and pressed him down into the stiletto. The Supervisor screamed again. "Do you fucking understand me?"

"Yes, Retriever!"

Bia stepped back, calming as suddenly as he'd moved. He dropped the ruined eyeball on the floor, toeing the goop with his boot. "Good." Glancing at Jensen, Bia added, "Unless you've changed your mind?"

Aside from being appallingly naive about Jensen's choices, the question was challenge and resignation both. Bia expected him to balk. Maniac calm descended. You didn't run from a Retriever, not unless you wanted to be hunted to ground. "No," Jensen said, absently impressed by the flat veneer of his voice, "that will be fine."

"Good." Bia studied him, expression ferally intent. Jensen wondered if he was about to be thrown across the table and fucked, if he should've taken a moment to prep in the restroom, but Bia said only, "You can button your shirt now."

Impossible to tell if he was being rebuked. He had lost weight and tone in the Care Unit; he would have to do better. Inclining his head, Jensen began to work the buttons. His hands were steady, steady, steady. "Thank you, Retriever." Let Bia figure out whether Jensen meant the assault or the permission to dress.

"Jeff," Bia corrected, then paused and added less tersely, "Please."

"Jeff," Jensen echoed, avoiding the Supervisor's wet eye.

That got him a smile, at least. A moment later, Jeff turned back to the Supervisor. "Codes. Now."

"I can't--my arms--" The Supervisor gestured weakly at the blades still pinning him.

Jeff tilted his head. "Which buttons do I push?"

"Let me down," the Supervisor pleaded. "Fingerprint access, I-"

The blade still in Jeff's hand flashed again, and he calmly retrieved the Supervisor's severed finger. Blood welled from the end as Jeff pressed it against the sensor. Disinterested, Jeff said, "Code?"

"Six-five-three-eight-two," the man babbled "Oh, god, you can't-"

The uplink verified, a wrenching twitch under Jensen's skin. Jeff wrenched the blades out of the Supervisor's shoulders, wiping them on the man's stained tunic. "Fine. Leave." When the man only sobbed, Jeff leaned into the Supervisor's face. "Leave. Now," he bit off.

Jensen forced himself to remain impassive as Jeff watched the man crawl away, tossing both datapad and finger out the door after him. The door shut. Then those dark, intense eyes turned on him.

Holding out his hands, Jensen said, "May I clean your blades?"

It was an honor to be given a Retriever's weapon. Jensen still fought to remain steady when Jeff laid blades sticky and warm in his open palms. There was a keen rage in Jeff's eyes; Jensen inclined his head, careful not to break eye contact lest it tip them into violence. Dealing with Retrievers in full fury was dancing over a void.

Jeff's fingers lingered at Jensen's wrist, brushing against his pulse point. Jensen inhaled; Jeff's mouth curved in something that wasn't a smile. "Thank you, Librarian Calliope," Jeff murmured.

"My pleasure to serve." Jensen's voice sounded breathy to his own ears, but Jeff didn't seem to notice anything amiss. Tucking the blades away into a pouch meant for that purpose, Jensen sank to his knees. He kept his motions steady and deliberate, the rhythm of the tea ceremony or the kata. The drain in the floor seemed black enough to swallow him.

From his knees, Jensen hesitated, then rested his hands on Jeff's hips. Muscles hummed with tension under his hands, the taut bowstring. Jensen undid the fasten of Jeff's pants; Jeff made a sharp noise, oddly sweet from a man with blood under his fingernails.

Glancing up at Jeff, Jensen wet his lower lip and said, "Let me serve."

As he reached forward again, big hands closed on his wrists, and Jensen waited for pain. Instead he found himself tugged to his feet and pulled close to Jeff. The sudden jolt of skin on skin brought a noise to Jensen's throat.

"No," Jeff said, and smoothed a hand down Jensen's back. "I won't require you to serve like that. Understand?"

Jensen nodded, keeping his face placid and unruffled, but inside, his mind was whirling. His retriever didn't find him attractive? That did not bode well for his continued survival. The chemical cocktail and genetic manipulations that a Retriever was put through left them far more prone to base emotions like lust or anger. If his Retriever was unwilling to let Jensen defuse his emotions via sex, it made it more likely that he would take the brunt of Jeff's violence.

As he tried to find his balance, to quiet his thoughts, Jeff's hand slid across his shoulder and he flinched. Sucking in a hard breath, Jensen looked up nervously. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "I apologize."

"None required," Jeff murmured. He had a nice voice. Quiet. The arm tightened briefly, and Jensen swallowed the flutter of fear in his throat. "Come on, Calliope. I'll show you our home."

Jensen allowed Jeff to lead him out of the Introduction Room, and wondered if he should be more or less nervous that the explosion had yet to come.


	3. Mere Anarchy

Jeff steered his new Librarian--Calliope? Like a fucking music box?--along the hallway towards the elevators. There were plenty of other retrievers on this level. Betas mostly, still having wet dreams about getting their own full-time Els instead of having to use the Librarian pool. After the way the Supervisor was screaming, no one in the hall would meet Jeff's eyes.

Fucking good thing. He could still feel the anger slithering beneath his skin. It was running neck and neck with shame.

Gods, could that possibly have gone worse?

He hated losing control like that at all, but to do it in front of the El who was going to be stuck with him for the forseeable future... unforgivable. After what Librarian Erato had told him about the Librarian program, he should know better. Calliope hadn't seemed ruffled; he'd reacted like Jeff had politely opened a door for him. Hell, Calliope had been more taken aback when Jeff pulled him up off his knees.

Worse, it appeared that someone was keeping tabs on him. Calliope was damn near an amalgam of every stripper he'd ever tipped, every whore who'd given him a handjob, and most of the porn in his collection. Someone was trying to keep him from going outside the program. Not unreasonable after Cupid, but if they kept that close a watch, they should know that Jeff wasn't doing anything likely to put a match to his temper. He'd been careful after Erato not to give them any reason to match him with an El against his will.

Apparently caution wasn't enough, because this morning he'd been woken with a summons. And now here he was, with an El dancing attention and watching with those sharp green eyes. Too sharp for most Librarians. Too sharp for the flat one-way mirror of Calliope's expression. It'd be just Jeff's luck if they sent him a spy.

He knew he had no right to feel sorry for himself, considering what Calliope had to be thinking after that display in the Introduction Room, but fuck, Jeff was tired. Tired of the dominance displays, tired of surveillance, tired of fighting against his own instincts when everything in him wanted to shove Calliope against the wall and bite marks into that pale, pretty throat.

Calliope was watching him, silent. He didn't look afraid, just keenly aware of every move Jeff made. Smart boy, but Jeff still itched to pet him down and feel the lean body under that buttoned-down suit. Jeff recognized the wisdom of that modesty at the same time he hated it, wanted to pop buttons and touch skin that some sick part of him thought was his by right. His to see-touch-taste, his to bruise and bite...

Gritting his teeth, Jeff closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth, where he couldn't smell the faint tang of blood on Calliope's fingers or the close warm whisper of his skin.

"Retriever," Calliope began, but quieted when Jeff held up a hand.

It took a moment, standing in the hallway and panting through his teeth, but the madness receded. In its wake, Jeff felt wrung-out and raw, his body throbbing with sullen want. Need would win out eventually, Jeff knew, but not tonight. Not tonight. At least they had reached the apartment, so that Jeff could stretch out with a stiff drink and a long, cold shower.

Managing a smile, Jeff opened his eyes and looked down at Calliope. "Better. Sorry. Did they give you the security codes to the apartment?"

"Yes," Calliope said. His eyelashes were obscene. "Would you like me to unlock the door for you?"

Like he was incapable of punching a couple of buttons? "No, that's fine. Actually, I rewired the door when I moved in, so you can forget those codes. Didn't like the idea of those assholes being able to wander in whenever they wanted." Jeff punched in the new code quickly, and grinned at Calliope when the door slid open. "Welcome home."

Calliope made a small noise, and Jeff looked around at the apartment, seeing it as a newcomer might. He wasn't much of a housekeeper, for sure. There was a fine layer of dust on all the tables, and the plants were pretty dusty too, except for the baby rosebush he misted daily. That would be one nice thing about having an El. He wouldn't have to worry about his plants while he was on missions.

"Sorry," he muttered, mentally wincing at the tone. He sounded like a pissy three year old. "I didn't know I was getting an El until this morning, so I didn't really have time to pick up."

"It's huge," Calliope breathed.

Cursing his filthy mind, Jeff looked at his apartment again. It was better than staring at Calliope's mouth. The Administrator hadn't told Jeff anything about Calliope's prior assignments, but Jeff had assumed Calliope had been with another alpha. It explained why Jeff had never seen him before, and why they'd been stuck with each other: Calliope had to be carefully trained, owned by the Administrator, his every move predictable to preserve the status quo. And maybe the apartment felt bigger because of the lack of blood-red paint and war trophies pinned to the walls by rusty knives, but it was the standard size for an alpha.

Calliope seemed genuinely surprised, though. And pleased. He paused next to a statue he'd picked up on a run and restored. It showed the Huntress Diana with her hounds clustered around her feet. He'd filled in the chips with a resin he used on the grips of his guns, and carefully repainted it. "That's lovely," he murmured. His hand hovered for a second, then dropped. Smart El. A lot of retrievers would kill anyone, even their El, for touching their trophies.

Jeff picked the statue up, offering it to Calliope. "It was a little beat up when I found it. There were some chips out of the hounds, and the end of the bow was gone. I worked a new one out of resin and restored the paint."

Calliope took it, flashing a slight smile at Jeff. "Thank you. You did an amazing job. If you weren't such a good Retriever, I have no doubt the Asthetic sector would pick you up."

"I've done a little freelance work for them. Mostly in architecture. And I designed the mural for the Palisade of the Maiden."

Calliope's eyes widened. "The Aphrodite Rising?"

Jeff nodded. "Yeah."

"God, Jeff, it's beautiful," Calliope murmured. "So... delicate and feminine, provocative without being trashy. I never would have guessed that a Retriever-" He broke off, eyes widening nervously. The minute shift in his posture, bracing himself to be struck, was almost seamless. The thought of anyone hitting Calliope made Jeff's teeth itch.

"Don't worry about it. Look, why don't we sit for a minute?" Herding Calliope over to the couch, careful not to touch, Jeff watched him sit on the very edge of the cushion. The couch was more comfortable, but Jeff sat on the coffee table anyway to keep some space between them. Their knees were close enough to bump. "Calliope, huh? That's kind of an mouthful. What do you like to be called?"

Calliope looked at him through the veil of his eyelashes. "Whatever pleases you, Retriever."

"Seriously, would you cut that out?" Irritation hardened Jeff's voice, and he swallowed, trying to tone it down. "What do you prefer to be called? I'm not above naming you Fifi after some overbred ancient dog."

Was that a lip twitch? Had his El stifled a laugh? Blessed be, there was a sense of humor in there.

"Jensen," Calliope finally offered. "You may call me Jen, if it'd suit you."

Interesting. Since Librarians were codenamed in the womb, most didn't get any other name. Calliope-- Jensen must've fostered with a kinder family than most. "Jen," Jeff echoed. "Nice."

"I'm glad it pleases you," Jensen said. Either he was serious or his sense of humor was drier than dust.

Jeff pressed his palms into his knees to keep from touching. Up close, he saw there was a faint spatter of freckles on Jensen's pale skin, taking Jensen from numb perfection to heartbreakingly human.

"Listen," Jeff began, carefully picking his words. "I think you can see I'm not much for formality. I like my space. I didn't ask for an El, and I'm pretty sure you didn't ask for a Retriever."

Jensen's gaze twitched away, betraying him. "My duty to serve. You won't see me, then-"

Flexing his fingers on his knees, Jeff said, "But, since you're here, we can at least try to like each other. Maybe be friends."

Jensen eyed Jeff like he'd suggested going outside the Fence for a stroll.

Jeff cracked a smile. "I know. But I'm asking you to try. We'll probably step on each others' toes a lot, but I won't hurt you. Not on purpose."

Frail comfort at best, but the best Jeff could offer with his temper even now whispering how good Jensen would look with a little blood on his mouth, how soft that full lip would feel between Jeff's teeth. Still, Jensen seemed reassured. "Thank you, Re-- Jeff."

Tempting fate, Jeff touched Jensen's knee and murmured, "You're welcome. Which would you rather see first, the kitchen or your room?"

Jensen's eyes went wide behind the shield of his glasses.

Despite everything, Jeff laughed and gripped Jensen's knee. Surprisingly sturdy, his El. "Don't ever play poker. What?"

Lowering his eyes, Jensen hid his uncertain smile. "I... a pallet in the kitchen would be fine. Or beside your bed."

In your bed. Jeff's stomach jerked hot. He forced his grip to gentle before bruises blossomed around Jensen's knee. "Already done. C'mon, I'll show you what I set up."

Jensen rose, his steps whispering behind Jeff's. He'd fade into the wallpaper if Jeff let him. Three steps remained between them, no matter how much Jeff tried to slow to let Jensen walk beside him. Trying to prod Jensen about formality again might be taken as a rebuke, making the submission worse, so Jeff let it slide for the moment. Concentration radiated from Jensen even three feet away, that El training for details ticking away like Jensen was clockwork inside.

The room Jeff had hastily cleared this morning looked humble to Jeff's eyes. It'd been a storage room for the stuff Jeff brought back from outside, sketchpads piled high among artifacts that must've cost their owners millions before the Burn. The room was chilly, bare and cramped; the bed hadn't even arrived. There was no carpet, no paint. It'd been fine that morning, with only a theoretical El and his blood running hot with irritation. But Jensen, already so skinny and so brittle-looking...

Damn. It was starting already.

"You're not staying here tonight, of course," Jeff said in one breath.

Jensen tilted his head, studying the room. With a tone of dawning relief, he said, "The room's my quarters until repairs are made. I can start tonight--"

Jeff's head was starting to hurt. He laid it against the doorframe and resisted the urge to grab Jensen by those narrow shoulders and shake vigorously until reason slid into place. "No, Jen. It's your room. You can stay with me until it's fit for human consumption." Seeing Jensen start to come to another conclusion, Jeff said quickly, "Or anytime you want. My bed is your bed. I'm trying to give you space."

"Space," Jensen echoed warily.

"Yes. For your stuff, when they send it."

"Ah." The word was crisp in Jensen's voice; he turned his face away from Jeff, his profile impossible to read. "I understand now."

Jeff doubted that very much, but he swallowed the urge to press until Jensen spilled over. Instead, he asked, "So you'd like to see the kitchen?"

With a last, longing touch to the doorframe, Jensen followed him. Jeff made a note to rush the bed, if only to quiet his own growling response to Jensen's shock. It was a small kindness to create a corner for his El out of an alpha-sized apartment, and Jeff knew he could've been more generous without feeling a sting. It was plain on Jensen's face that he'd never had as much room as Jeff had grudgingly carved out for him. Might've been guilt, the part of Jeff's mind ticking away on where to find lush fabric and comfortable furniture, but he knew himself better than to buy that excuse. The furniture was just a safer reflection of his need to surround and caress.

The kitchen was one of his many indulgences. He didn't have as many as some Retrievers, but it could hardly be said that he didn't take advantage of the way their handlers practically fawned over them. It made sense. A happy, contented Retriever was less likely to leave the compound, less likely to cause havoc in the general population. They couldn't outright bar a Retriever from leaving, but they could do everything in their power to keep them from wanting to go.

So, the kitchen. Stocked with the finest equipment, and the best foodstuffs. That much, he did have to go off compound for. Most Retrievers didn't care what they ate. He'd spent too long as the child of a farmer, helping to eke out fresh produce from the harsh ground outside of the city.

Jensen's eyes widened when he saw the bowl of fruit on the counter. "Is that-?"

"Pears. I have a small tree on the rooftop in the garden."

"Garden?" Jensen's smile was blinding. "There's a garden?"

"It's in-progress, but yes. I pick up seeds whenever I go on a mission. So far, I've got two pear trees, some herbs and a few flowers. I have seeds-" Jeff pulled the small trunk of seeds out of the cabinet and stopped at the blissful, greedy look on his new El's face. "You like gardening?"

Jensen's eyes shuttered. "I. Yes?"

"Then I guess we'll get the garden up to speed even faster. Come on, I'll show you." Jeff put out his hand automatically, remembered himself, and started to withdraw. To his surprise, Jensen took his hand, following him closely to the steep spiral staircase that led to the rooftop.

Apparently, the garden trumped protocol. Good to know. Jensen's skin was surprisingly warm, his fingers long and curled sweetly against Jeff's palm. Most Els were decorative, but there were callouses on Jensen's hand.

When he opened the door on the little garden, Jensen made a soft noise of pleasure and dropped Jeff's hand. Jeff dug his nails into his palms, trying not to imagine Jensen spread under him. Would he make those noises as Jeff sunk into him, if he bit that sweet throat peeking over the stiff collar of Jensen's shirt?

Jeff shook himself, forcing himself away from the edge, step by aching step. When he trusted himself to look up again, Jen was walking through the flowers, eyes bright. His fingertips lightly traced the edge of a green leaf. For an El, Jensen was damned tactile; most Retrievers reacted badly to the minute traces of body oils on any of their possessions, either enraged or aroused. Why the hell hadn't Jensen's training covered that? Why was he tempting fate after watching Jeff tear a man's eye out?

It didn't matter. Jeff had wanted Jensen to trust him. But this, Jensen laying his fate in Jeff's hands... it made him uneasy.

"I've never seen so much green," Jensen murmured. "And no dust. Where do you get the earth?"

"I've got connections with the techs who create topsoil. They give me a little on the side if I bring things from outside the Fence." When Jensen raised wide eyes, Jeff smiled. "Cigarettes, mostly. No great intrigue."

Jensen nodded, apparently reassured that Jeff wasn't committing any execution-worthy crimes, and looked back at the plants. The leaf of growing magnolia brushed Jensen's arm like it wanted to be stroked more. Jeff sympathized; he wanted that light, reverent touch on his skin, and he could have it if he was willing to violate every principle he had.

"You say it'll get done faster." Looking around the garden, Jensen said, "It's so... what else needs to be done? It's perfect."

Jeff shrugged. "I can show you?"

Jensen met his eyes, bold now that his mind was on something else. Forgetting himself. Or it was all strategy, all lies. Jeff couldn't tell. "Please. Show me."

Jeff wanted to show him everything. Jeff wanted to push him away and lock the door.

Forcing a smile, Jeff said, "Of course."


	4. So True a Fool

Control bled through Jensen's fingers, and he could only clutch at the remains.

Shivering in several tight layers of clothes, Jensen lowered the knife he had been cleaning and stared at the tainted blade. His blood painted the edge, smears of it from cuts he didn't remember inflicting on his bared arms.

Three days without a Retriever, and he had fallen into the siren song of the Uplink eight times. He could wrap his mind around the numbers, if not the reality that each time he woke with more cuts, more blood, and more terror that he had been found out.

After several tense minutes, there was no serene chime summoning him to the Administrator for liquidation. Jensen sank into the kitchen chair and rested his head in his hands, trying and failing to still his trembling.

Better that it happen now. Better that Jeff was elsewhere.

Barely a day of quiet courtesy had come and gone before Jeff was assigned his next Retrieval. Word had come in from a Scout that there was a cache of weaponry being unearthed about a day's ride south of the City. Jeff had been dispatched immediately, leaving Jensen to send him data through their link as he found it. Jeff was going to have enough problems slipping in and out without alerting the local warlords, but it was Jensen's duty to spare Jeff additional attention from the Cybers.

It was no wonder that they'd assigned an El to Jeff. Even the finest Retriever could only access limited parts of the Uplink without going insane. The genetic restructuring that went into changing a recruit into a Retriever caused a certain amount of instability. it was inevitable; one couldn't feed anyone that many drugs without damage. The cold tumbling flow of the Uplink would slide into a Retriever's fault lines and shatter them like so many matchsticks.

There were enough angry ghosts drifting in the Uplink without adding the uncontrolled rage of Retrievers.

These days, Administration didn't even bother to give the Retrievers access. Their access came solely from the El they had been assigned, or from the El Pool. It was safer. After all, the Librarians were created to serve. Genetically coded for stability, beauty and intelligence. They were built for this. They were disposable.

Forty percent failed the initial uplink at age three. Their broken little bodies were shuffled off to the incinerator, their minds torn loose and left to scream in the Uplink until they burned out. If the gods were merciful, they had to burn out sometime.

The gods made ghosts and Cybers. Jensen doubted their mercy.

Something brushed him. Gentle as it was, Jensen jerked and nearly tumbled off the kitchen chair before he recognized the source as a polite mental touch asking for permission to link. Relief swept over Jensen; it was not unusual for a Retriever to keep silent on a mission, but Jensen had been concerned by the lack of any contact. Closing his eyes, he found his center and calmed himself again. Jeff was in the field; he needed serenity and peace from a Librarian, not more chaos to distract him. If Jensen felt anxiety at their first direct linking, he couldn't share it.

Though linking was in reality a messy process of chemicals and wires, Jensen imagined it as the opening of a door. This one would be dusty, heavy but sturdy enough to offer sanctuary. Are you well, Retriever?

Jeff's mind touched him, staggeringly vivid: a callused hand Jensen's nape, the scent of iron. Dizzying warmth. I'm alive. Had to park the bike when the forest got too dense. It's been a long walk out here. You're all right?

Swamped as Jensen was in sudden input, it seemed impossible to talk. With a tilt of his head, he sent Jeff the architectural plans he'd found for the location of the weapons.

Thoughtful quiet. Jeff touched the plans, stroked them as he read like he would with a map. Jensen felt an echo of that touch on his skin, as if his body was stripped in the link between them. Was that what Jeff imagined when their minds linked?

Huh, Jeff said finally. Good work. I hadn't expected you to do that.

Thank you, Jensen returned, warmed by the praise.

No, thank you, Calliope, Jeff murmured.

I'll be available if you need me. In the meantime, good hunting, Retriever Bia.

Jeff chuckled. From your lips to Her ear.

Jensen broke the connection, trying to ignore the warm feeling in his stomach. Like swallowing tea quickly and feeling it all the way down. It was not unpleasant, but definitely unusual.

It only lasted a moment, though.

With Jeff gone, it was harder to stay focused. The borders of the Uplink pressed against him, whispers drifting through his mind unbidden. Disconnected screams brushed the the edges, and he struggled to shut them out, to ground himself in reality.

The suit wasn't enough anymore. The tie wasn't tight enough to keep him alert. He needed more.

He found it in a small shop in the Quarter that catered to the Servants of Eros. He was ashamed of that, but truly their jobs weren't so different. Salvation was a simple thing: four panels of white cloth laced together, with long bone stays that kept the wearer's back straight.

With the corset on, the laces pulled tight, he felt strong, solid. The voices in his head dimmed, the cold breath of the Uplink dying to a bare breeze. Better still, with his normal clothes on, it was invisible. He could do his job, be the El his Retriever needed. He could fake it; let the metal and fabric hold him together.

He walked through the marketplace, the pulsing red glow of his dataport marking him as claimed, owned by an Alpha Retriever. If the general populace regarded Retrievers as necessary barbarians, the Els were their whores. Less regarded than the lowest of prostitutes, the ones who defied Aphrodite's will and fucked for money alone, the Librarians were widely considered to be not much more than sex-dolls with a computer console for a brain.

Walking alone, he was a target for those who considered him a seed depository with legs. But with Jeff's status shining for all to see, he was safe. None would bring the rage of an Alpha down on themselves.

So he browsed alone, looking at the variety of foodstuffs, picking out things that weren't available at the compound--things that he hoped Jeff would like. It was soothing, the rhythm of looking, checking fruit for freshness. An older woman offered him a "deal" on spotted berries, telling him they'd make wonderful jelly. He took it, remembering the recipe in one of the ancient cookbooks Jeff had sitting on a shelf in his kitchen.

These days, thanks to the efforts of the Retrievers, the city had expanded considerably, more of the Wastelands being reclaimed for farmland and animal husbandry. Meat was becoming less scarce, and crops were regular, not the sporadic luxury of days past. Now they had dried fruits and frozen vegetables to tide them over during the harsh winters, instead of relying on supplements. The well off few even had greenhouses, so that they might have fresh food year round. He would have to ask Jeff if they could get access to plastic, build their own. It wouldn't help when the snows really hit, but during the rains and the harvest, it would keep them going.

The last winter had been hard, or so he'd been told. He'd spent it in the Care Unit, the doctors trying to anchor him to his body, to heal the damage Retriever Prometheus had done by leaving him in the Uplink for so long.

Jensen bent forward, feeling the stays bite into his waist, dragging his mind back to the present. The winters were getting longer each year, as the planet reasserted itself against the few cities that remained.

The current city was built on the ruins of a small mountain town, which the history books said was prone to heavy snows each winter. According to the Weather-witches, the climate was creeping back to normal, the last of the radiation from the Great War starting to leech out of the soil.

Truth be told, he was looking forward to snow. Many of the old texts he'd found described the hush the snows brought, the way the world looked newly formed under its blanket.

Back in the kitchen, he settled in to make the jam, singing softly to himself. He barely noticed the first brush of Jeff's mind. Jeff was just there, warm and strong, humming along the neural pathways.

Am I interrupting? Even mentally, his Retriever's voice was like rough velvet.

Jensen flinched, nearly fumbling the glass bottle he was holding. He set it carefully down. Of course not, Retriever. Are you well?

I have the weapons, but could you alert the Watch that I'll be coming in hot?

The warlords?

I wish. Cybers. I'll be there in twenty- Jeff's mental voice broke off with a hot sizzle of pain that he wasn't quite able to keep to himself. Jensen took the edge of the hurt, realizing in a wash of red that Jeff had tried to shelter him from the worst of it.

Retriever? Bia? Jensen waited a long moment for Jeff to reply before venturing, Jeff?

When there was no answer, Jensen disconnected, reconnecting to the security systems to alert them that a Retriever had requested backup from the Watch.

They would be waiting, and as soon as Jeff got in range-- if he was able to get in range-- they would provide extra firepower to ward off the Cybers. Jensen put the water on to boil and assembled the rather extensive first aid kit that Retrievers kept. If his injuries were too bad, Jeff would go to the care unit. But for anything short of life threatening, the Librarian's were expected to handle it.

Time ticked by. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. Should he contact the care unit? No. Give him time. If Jeff arrived in a rage to find strangers in his home...

And if Jeff had fallen outside the gate, to the Cybers, Jensen would know by the screaming.

Forty minutes. Jensen heard the blood pounding in his ears.

At forty three minutes, the door lock chimed and Jeff stumbled in, looking and smelling half dead. Blood crusted the side of his head and clothes, and he was pale, lips compressed tightly. He caught sight of Jensen and stilled, trembling with killing tension. He wanted; Jensen could see it in the hard lines of Jeff's body, the weapons of his fists.

"Retriever," Jensen murmured. His mouth felt dry; he wet his lower lip and cursed himself for it when Jeff shuddered. This was his duty, his to take, his to bleed. Swallowing against fear, Jensen took a step towards his Retriever. "May I tend to you?"

Jeff was silent, his eyes black and wild. He made some noise in his throat, guttural. Stay back? Come closer? As Jensen took another step, he smelled the thick wetness of blood.

"Jeff," Jensen said, softer, the word falling from his mouth. "Tell me I can touch you."

Jeff closed his eyes and buckled to the floor.

Jensen darted over and took his weight, managing to soften his fall. His Retriever was heavy, and stank of the wasteland's desolation.

"I'll assume that's a yes," Jensen told Jeff, and dragged him over to the bandages.


	5. What Rough Beast

In the three days it took for the poison to work its way out of his system, Jeff figured a couple things out about his Librarian.

First, he was stubborn. That was actually kind of a relief. He didn't want someone who would give way with a little push. It was one of the great failings of the Retriever program, at least as far as Jeff was concerned. Most of the children who applied had never had heartbreak--had never found anything they couldn't bully out of someone. It made them soft, lulled them into thinking that they'd never lose. Made them unlikely to survive when they found something stronger than them.

Second, Jensen was afraid. Even when he wasn't in Jeff's sight, there was the low-level pulse of Jensen's fear. Oddly, he seemed less afraid when Jeff could see him. Maybe then the Librarian training kicked in. Jeff listed it as one more thing that they'd have to eventually settle, but for the moment it scraped at his instincts.

Lastly, Jeff had finally realized that Jensen's stuff wasn't coming. There were no boxes of books or clothes, no furniture. Apparently his new Librarian came with a suit of clothing, and not much else. Jeff could certainly afford to outfit his El, but it rankled that Jensen hadn't told him it was needed. Jensen might've worn that one suit until it fell apart before he went to Jeff for help. It was Jeff's job to see to his El, his privilege, and instead Jensen washed his clothes in the sink and slept on a pallet beside Jeff's bed. It made Jeff want to grab him by the scruff and shake him. Instead, he called his tailor. That would have to do.

He wasn't sure how much of it was the instinctual urge of the Retriever to hold and protect his El, and how much of it was that he was coming to genuinely like Jensen, but Jeff found himself missing Jensen when he wasn't nearby. It was galling that after six months of fighting against having a Librarian, he was falling back to the familiar rhythms of need.

It didn't help that the poison had effectively tied Jeff to the bed. He felt unsteady, and that in addition to the endless grind of Jensen's wariness left him raw. He wanted to get up and follow Jensen wherever he went. He wanted to pull Jensen into bed and curl around him, press his face to the warm fragrant hollow of Jensen's nape. It made Jeff sharp, impatient, and that only made Jensen retreat farther.

No, it was time to get up and stretch his legs. Maybe he would shower while he was at it; he didn't mind his own stink, used to it from weeks in the field, but Jensen was probably accustomed to cleanliness. At least, Jensen cleaned like it. Jeff's apartment hadn't been so well-organized in months.

Jeff stood. He wobbled, as he had on every trip to the bathroom, then steadied himself on the wall. The pain in his side was a good one, the burn of muscle rather than gut-deep agony. He bore it, teeth gritted, and was perversely satisfied to feel hurt after so much time resting.

There was no skitter of Jensen's alarm, no response from his El. Jeff had assumed that meant Jensen was gardening, or relaxing for once, but as Jeff's painful steps took him to the living room he saw Jensen on the couch. Jensen sat very still, one hand cupped in the other and his face empty. His lips moved in silence. Checking the Uplink, then.

Jeff shuffled past, trying not to disturb him. He only made it a few steps before Jensen inhaled sharply, as if he was in pain, and snapped back to attention. It took Jensen a moment to orient, the whites showing briefly around his eyes. Then he stared at Jeff like he was some kind of ghost, the color draining from Jensen's (already pale) face. This fear swamped Jensen's usual wariness, dragged it under to drown.

Jeff stepped towards the couch like he was drawn by a magnet, putting his hand on Jensen's shoulder. "Hey," he said. "It's only me."

Jensen stared at him, that same terror in his eyes, then blinked and seemed to shutter down. That fear closed away, leaving only its scent behind. Jensen swallowed and said, "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Walking very slowly to the bathroom." Jeff squeezed Jensen's shoulder. "Did I startle you?"

"I- no. No. I'm simply concerned for your stitches. You should sit."

"Right." Jeff's hand itched to press his thumb deeper into the ridge of Jensen's collarbone, to mold him until he found the source of that stark terror. Like air trapped in his clay, a hidden threat that would make the pieces shatter when they were fired. Jeff satisfied himself with simply stroking his thumb along the bone, seeking calm in the touch. "Jensen," he said finally, when he could speak easily, "I won't ask to climb in your head. You don't owe me that. But don't lie to me."

Jensen flinched a little, his cheeks coloring. "I am sorry," he murmured, the fear sharpening again. That secret fear.

Fear of what? Discovery? Jeff himself?

Jeff stared down at Jensen's upturned face. The perfect Librarian for Jeff: beautiful, dedicated, haunted. Jeff liked him. Jeff trusted him. The spark of suspicion got inside his head and lit a bonfire.

"Did you get the report off to your superiors?" Anger made Jeff's voice quiet, and yet it wasn't for Jensen. He touched Jensen's shoulder, seeking comfort. "Am I to the Administrator's satisfaction?"

Jensen's attention jerked to Jeff's face. "You think I've betrayed you?"

"I think you would follow orders."

Expression hardening, Jensen said, "You are the Retriever. You can hear in my heartbeat if I lie. Ask what you want to know."

Jeff leaned on the back of the couch, close enough to kiss. His wound throbbed, but he couldn't sit. Not until he knew. "Are you here to spy?"

Holding Jeff's eyes, Jensen offered his wrists and waited for Jeff to encircle them. Jeff did, resting his thumbs on the pulse. Jensen said, each word enunciated sharply enough to cut, "I am no spy. I serve only you."

Jensen's heart beat strong and steady against Jeff's thumbs.

Damn the Retrievers and their drugs. Damn these rages.

With a hard sigh, Jeff bent until his forehead rested against Jensen's bared wrists. Jensen's scent, fear and stubbornness, rose up into his head. A balm.

"Though I don't doubt that they would track you," Jensen said, letting Jeff hold him, "I am... imperfect. They do not trust me."

Much like you.

Jeff rubbed his cheek against Jensen's wrists, letting their scents twine. It was an old symbol, protection and promise. His mouth brushed Jensen's skin, a secret kiss, as he murmured, "I'm a fool. I apologize. That's no reward for you saving my life."

Jensen's fingers twitched, his pulse fluttering under Jeff's mouth. He didn't tug against Jeff's hold; there was no struggling with Retrievers, no running from them, unless you wanted to raise their blood. "Get off the floor before you rip your stitches," Jensen said, then cleared his throat and added, "please."

Jeff smiled against Jensen's skin. "As you like."

He let Jensen help him up onto the sofa, smiling when Jensen seemed startled that he was sitting so close. Jeff settled in and held his arm out for Jensen to sit beside him. Jensen went, curling into Jeff's body like he fit there.

"Can I get you anything, Jeff?" Jensen spoke into Jeff's shoulder, voice muffled.

"No, thank you. I was thinking, though. I'm feeling better today, maybe tomorrow we could go for a walk in the Quarter."

"Was there something you needed to purchase? I could fetch it for you," Jensen offered quickly.

"I'd like you to come with me, if you don't have other plans, but I need to stretch my legs."

"Of course. I live to serve," Jensen replied.

God, he must be feeling better, if those simple words were enough to make Jeff's body come to life. He could smell his scent on Jensen, smell the mingling heat. He wanted to touch, to pull Jensen beneath him and take. To claim.

Instead, he brushed his cheek against Jensen's shoulder, feeling the catch of his beard on the rough spun fabric of Jensen's suit. "I should get cleaned up. Shave, shower."

"Of course." Jensen came to his feet. "I will assist you."

Jeff's lips quirked. Somehow, that hadn't sounded like a request from his Librarian. There was definitely a backbone under all those layers, a little steel under the gorgeous exterior. The thought made him laugh, earning him a look from Jensen that reminded Jeff of nothing more than a felren kit who had its fur rubbed the wrong way. "I'm coming," he assured Jensen.

Jensen shook his head. "No, stay put, I'll run the bath."

Jensen was gone before Jeff remembered that he hadn't agreed to a bath. He sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. Jensen deserved his victory; Jeff had been unfair to assume that he was reporting back to the Administrator. As relieved as he was to know for sure, he'd insulted Jensen and he knew it.

But if Jensen wasn't afraid of being caught, then what had him so terrified?


	6. High Lonely Mysteries

By the time Jeff arrived in the bathroom, Jensen had the copper soaking tub filled with hot water. He threw in a handful of herbs and glanced over at his Retriever. "It's just about ready."

"What is it?" Jeff eyed the tub warily. "Are you planning to cook me?"

"No, it's not that-" Jensen started to reassure him, but the quirk of Jeff's lips stopped him. "Oh, you... it's a soaking tub," he said, voice betraying his exasperation. "I'm adding herbs to help clean your wound, and loosen your muscles."

"As long as I'm not about to end up as stew," Jeff agreed.

Jensen shook his head, and walked over to Jeff. "Here, let me help you."

His fingers slid over Jeff's chest, down to the hem of his tunic, and quickly tugged it up, easing it over Jeff's head. His fingers brushed over warm skin, and Jensen felt a tiny shiver in his stomach. Odd. He didn't believe that he was chilled. He quickly uplinked to the environmental controls and nudged the temperature up a bit. He didn't want Jeff getting cold so soon after his injury.

Jeff batted weakly at his hands as Jensen undid his sleep pants, but Jensen ignored him, undoing the ties and letting them fall to the floor. For his advanced age, Jeff was still in extraordinary shape, Jensen noted absently as he herded Jeff into the bath. The difficulty in procuring the tub was entirely worth it for the soft groan of pleasure that Jeff made as he settled into the steaming water. Indeed, Jensen quickly logged onto the main server and put in a permanent requisition for it.

"Soak for a few minutes, so the bandages will come loose," Jensen murmured.

Jeff nods. "Okay. In the meantime, could I have the soap?"

"No. Are you incapable of relaxing for three minutes?" Jensen asked. A moment later, he caught himself. Rude, too discourteous, he'd be reprimanded--

"Pretty much. Unless you want to sit here and talk to me, keep me occupied," Jeff said reasonably. Reading the look on Jensen's face (and what Retriever bothered to do that?), he added, "I'd like it."

There came an odd, prickling feeling up the back of Jensen's neck. The blood rising to make him blush. He rubbed at the warm skin, glancing away from Jeff's face. "There is work to be done. I should change your sheets, they're sweaty..."

Jeff had heard that Jensen was tempted. He leaned into the rim of the tub, smiling. "Just for a little while?"

Damn. Jeff shouldn't have to ask his El for anything.

"If I sit, you'll let me help you wash," Jensen said.

Jeff's smile widened. It was a nice smile, his nose wrinkling and dimples showing at the corners of his mouth. "I can do that, I suppose."

Jensen knelt on the floor next to the tub. This close, he could smell Jeff's skin and feel heat rising off the water. His glasses fogged on the edges. He still felt that persistent shiver. "What shall I talk about?"

"What do you want to talk about?" Jeff countered.

"Ah." Jensen rubbed his hand through his hair. "I know about a great deal of subjects, and what I don't know I can research on the Uplink--"

"Not report. Talk. Like two people who just met are supposed to do." At Jensen's blank look, Jeff's smile gentled. "They don't encourage you to do that."

"Not as much. Um." Jensen took his glasses off and cleaned them. "I. I'm afraid I'm not terribly interesting."

"I disagree." Jeff reached out and took the glasses from Jensen's hand. "Here. They'll only keep fogging. How's the garden doing?"

Jensen relaxed a little. "Well. The fall vegetables are beginning to come through. We should have some lovely turnips when the seasons change."

"Good." Jeff leaned his head back, relaxing a little.

"I was thinking," Jensen ventured. "I saw something in one of the books you've found on gardening. About how to make a greenhouse for year-round vegetables and fruit."

"Did you now?"

Jensen tensed, unsure how to take the drawling question. "Yes, Retriever," he said, falling back on protocol, knowing that it wouldn't protect him.

Jeff's nostrils flared, and his eyes came open, pinning Jensen. "Problem?"

"Not at all," Jensen murmured, ducking his head. "Would you like me to shave you?"

As far as changing subjects went, it was a pathetic and obvious ploy. Jeff raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. "We could do that. My shaving kit is in the nightstand on my side of the bed."

Jensen nodded, coming to his feet and bolting out of the room as quickly as his pride allowed.

When he opened the kit, he nearly cursed. It would be a straight razor, wouldn't it? To properly shave Jeff, he would practically have to sit on top of him.

The thought didn't bother him, somehow. Maybe because Jeff had made his preferences obvious, he didn't worry about being taken roughly in the tub. Not that it would have kept him from doing his duty, but he might have stopped in the kitchen for some non-water soluble lubricant.

Instead, he simply slipped his coat and shirt off, undoing the laces to his corset and laying the shirt and coat over it on the chair. His pants followed, leaving Jensen in his underwear and a tank he had appropriated from Jeff's closet. It hung off him, but it served to further disguise the corset under his clothes, and more importantly, it hid the bruises that the metal stays had left on his skin.

He padded back in and laid out the items on the edge of the sink, adding the warm water and soap before using the bristles of the brush to agitate it into a rich lather. The hot towel went around Jeff's upturned face, the moisture and heat hopefully serving to soften his thick beard.

After a little thought, Jensen hurried out to the kitchen and picked up the tray he'd been using to sit on the bed to feed Jeff during his delirium. As he'd guessed, it slid nicely over the edges of the narrow tub, giving him a perfect work surface.

Jensen knelt on the floor next to the tub, and lifted the towel off Jeff's face.

Dark eyes blinked at him for a moment, then Jeff smiled. "You're not going to get your clothes wet, I see."

Heat flooded Jensen's face. "I apologize, Ret-"

"I'm kidding."

"Oh. Still, I should have asked before-" Jensen stopped, because Jeff was watching him in a way that reminded Jensen of a cat watching a very small mouse.

"You weren't waiting for your clothes to show up, were you?" Jeff said flatly. "The Administrator sent you with the clothes on your back, and nothing else."

In lieu of replying, Jensen slathered the shaving foam on Jeff's face. Jeff shut his mouth quickly to avoid eating foam. Jensen doubted that it would convince him to drop the subject.

After a few minutes of shifting around along side the tub, Jensen sighed. "Do you mind if I straddle your legs?"

Jeff nodded and offered Jensen his hand as he climbed into the warm water.

It was an unusual feeling, having water all around him. It was only recently that the water restrictions had been lifted, and he'd never been nearly submerged in liquid. The water was warm, licking along his sides, soaking the tank top and making it cling to his body like a second skin. It felt very decadent.

Jeff watched him with hooded eyes as he got situated, then obligingly tilted his head back, offering Jensen his throat. Every instinct in Jeff had to be screaming. No Retriever would willingly show throat to anyone, much less someone who was holding a blade that could slice their throat before even they could stop it.

"Jensen," Jeff murmured, and Jensen realized he was staring.

Jensen scooted closer, settling back onto Jeff's thighs and using his other hand to steady him, pressing his fingers lightly against the pulse of Jeff's throat. It was slow, relaxed. With a deep breath, and a silent prayer to the Maiden for a steady hand, Jensen laid the blade against Jeff's skin and swept it upwards.

The blade scraped lightly against the skin, leaving a pale swatch of skin behind.

It was somehow more intimate than anything he'd ever done. Jeff was languid, each breath coming slowly as Jensen cleaned him. Then, Jensen leaned upwards, preparing to shave Jeff's cheeks. Jeff's eyes slitted open, and Jensen shivered.

Predator. There was no other word for it. It made something liquefy in Jensen's stomach, something like fear. Hotter than fear, deeper, pulling Jensen taut. His pulse leapt, and he found himself stroking the newly shaven skin, touching lightly in the wake of the razor. Jeff's pulse was speeding up as well, his hands settling on Jensen's hips, steadying him.

It seemed to take forever. An eternity of sound and sensation. His world had dimmed to the sliver blade, and Jeff's dark eyes. To the feel of the water licking at the small of his back, Jeff's wet shirt rasping against his nipples, and Jeff's hands.

Finally it was done.

Jensen wiped Jeff's face and settled back, meeting Jeff's eyes. "Is that to your satisfaction, Retriever?"

Jeff's hands flexed on Jensen's hips, and he caught his breath as something tightened low in his body. After a long moment, they dropped back into the water. "Yes, thank you, Jensen. I appreciate it," he said, voice harsh.

Shifting back, Jensen lowered his eyes. "I--did I displease-" his voice trailed off as he looked down into the water, noting Jeff's obvious arousal. There was no reason for it to feel like triumph, but Jensen was still unable to keep the pleasure out of his voice. "I could assist you with that."

Jeff barked a laugh, his hand trailing up Jensen's side. "You're too damn tempting by half. Thank you, but no."

"I've been told I have a very good mouth," Jensen informed him, sliding closer.

Jeff shook his head. "Jen, I'm not going to do that--"

Distantly shocked at his boldness, Jensen leaned forward, brushing his lips against Jeff's jaw. His voice came out a purr more suited to the pleasure districts. "I would be happy to service you, Retriever."

He could feel Jeff's pulse under his lips for a moment. Then he was unceremoniously dumped into the water as Jeff came to his feet.

For a moment Jeff stood over him, fists at his side. Jensen could smell his violence, his need. He opened himself to it, spreading his thighs, baring his throat. The only sound was the thunder of Jeff's pulse.

"No," Jeff said, as if to himself. "No."

Jensen closed his eyes. "I am for you, Retriever."

"You're not the first," Jeff said, his voice like stones grinding together. "I killed them. That is why."

He left Jensen there, alone in the cooling water with his shame.


	7. One Black Day

It had been a stupid idea to begin with, but Jeff was just realizing that it might be suicidal as well. Retrievers didn't walk around injured. Especially in the Quarter. It was just asking for any up and coming Retriever to make their name on an older model. Bia had played that game enough in his own time, and he hadn't even hunted the streets like the young betas now.

He was a target, but it was still safer than sitting in the loft with Jensen.

Just the thought of his Librarian made something low in Jeff's stomach tighten. Even Daphne hadn't called to his baser instincts like Jensen did. She had been familiar, pleasant, and even that low level of desire had gotten her killed. If he were to touch Jensen the way he wanted to...

It wouldn't end well.

For a moment, Jeff closed his eyes, calling Librarian Daphne to mind: her quickfire wit and easy smile as she'd gone over mission reports with him, her capable hands helping to clean his weapons. How he'd seen her last, beneath him, eyes empty and staring

Worse had been the solemn, gentle words of the Administration. It was understandable. She was expendable. No one blamed him, it was his Retriever's nature to be a brute. To rape. To murder those they loved.

They'd accepted his choice to not have a Librarian for a while, allowing him to use the pool like a lowly Beta.

Their tolerance hadn't lasted forever. Then they had assigned Tiam to him. They'd had a good relationship. Tiam was about as asexual as a man could be, and Jeff... well, he was finally starting to understand what being an Alpha Retriever meant. The training, the drugs were just meant to amplify the rage that was already there. And hadn't he known all along that he was the real killer?

He had always been the monster. The Administration had just made him harder to kill.

He stopped in front of a ramshackle building in the heart of the Quarter, staring at the lighted sign that offered Shangri-La. The promised land. Under it was a smaller sign: Retrievers Welcome.

The waiting area smelled of sex and fear. The whores lounging on the couches on full display avoided his eyes, probably praying that he didn't want them tonight. Cringing.

Jensen had bared throat and opened thighs. Jensen had submitted.

Jeff hated them. Hated himself. It didn't make him want them any less.

One of them approached him, a bi-gender, her tiny cock laying soft between her legs, full nipples rouged to pink perfection. “Well, hello there,” she purred.

He bared his teeth in something that she mistook for a smile. “How much,” Jeff asked flatly.

She smile coyly and named a price. Jeff nodded, finger curling around the chain that was strung between her nipple piercings. Her gasp of pain when he pulled a little too hard shot straight to his dick, and his smile was real this time. “That's fine. You have a room?”

She licked her lips nervously and nodded. "Y-yes. Upstairs."

Her fear was like a drug. Jeff knotted his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back until she gasped. He bent, biting her lip just shy of drawing blood. "Show me."

She didn't like giving him her back, but she didn't dare to refuse an order from a Retriever either. He could taste the fear, feel her pulse skip a beat as he pressed close behind her on the stairs.

When his hands closed on her hips, pulling her back to grind into her ass, she didn't quite stifle her squeak of fear. Jeff bent, biting her throat. "You're afraid of me, aren't you?" His teeth grazed over her pulse, feeling it flutter wildly at his touch.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Good." When she opened the door to her room, Jeff shoved her in, holding her against the wall with a hand resting at the base of her throat. She whimpered, and he growled, tasting her fear, reveling in her panicked breaths, the way her nipples pulled to tight points against his chest. Forcing his hand away from her throat, Jeff stepped closer still, until his cock was pressed into the hollow of her hip, rubbing just right to make sparks dance behind his eyes. He dug his fingers into her hair again, tilting her head back until the tendons were stretched tight. She arched into him with a small pained noise, her fingers closing around his wrist, nails digging in. Wide, brown eyes met his, the scent of fear sharp. "Re-Retriever," she managed, voice tight, afraid.

Her nails dug into his wrist as she struggled vainly, the tiny pain sending his instincts into overdrive. She tried to shove him away, her hand pressing unerringly into the still healing wound on his stomach.

He didn't remember moving.

She was sprawled on the floor, blood running from her lip, smearing the back of his throbbing hand. Blood welled in the crescents her nails had left in his wrist, sluggishly dripping down his wrist.

"I-" He stepped towards her, stopping when she cringed, holding her hand in front of her face. Bruises showed livid around her wrist, where he'd yanked her hand back. Fuck. He'd done it again. And still it took a force of will to step back, to keep from taking her anyway, or to savage her. Because she wasn't what or who he wanted.

Jeff threw a handful of credits on the floor next to her as he bolted, hurrying through the Quarter, welcoming the pull of his wound, the pain in his wrist. It brought the rage down, kept him from losing it, from slaughtering the people who dared to jostle him, who looked away quickly as though he would contaminate them with his gaze. He was their boogeyman. A necessary evil of the times.

Jensen was in the foyer when he rushed in, on his knees, eyes downcast. The perfect librarian. No fear, no reservation.

When Jeff stopped, breathing hard, Jensen came to his feet in a fluid movement. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, and raised his eyes to meet Jeff's. "You are injured, Retriever," he murmured, fingers stroking Jeff's forearm. "Let me tend to you."

Jeff caught Jensen's wrist in his hand, squeezing hard. He could snap Jensen's arm; he could pull it from the socket, if he tried. "Are you afraid of me, El?"

Jensen's gaze didn't so much as flicker, offering only silent acceptance of Jeff's anger, of the rage that simmered below the surface. "No," Jensen said. "Not of you."

And like that, it was over. Jeff stepped forward, pulling Jensen into a hug-- no. No, clinging to him like a buoy, the world falling down and only Jensen to hang on. One skittish, brittle Librarian.

His.

Jensen's arms surrounded him, and Jeff hid his face in the welcome darkness of Jensen's throat.  
****  
"Spring will be lovely, I think. The ash has cleared enough that we might see some sun."

Jeff was on the floor. Why was he--

The rage had passed. His mind was clear. He felt wrung out, empty inside. Something touched his face, and Jeff flinched before he realized that it was Jensen's hand. Jensen's fingers combing through his hair, Jensen's lap his head rested on.

Jensen didn't look down at him, but his nails scratched gently over Jeff's scalp, a silent 'hello'. Jeff swallowed his heartfelt moan, but apparently Jensen felt that he liked that, because Jensen began scritching over the rest of his head. "The turnips over there will grow," Jensen murmured, his dry voice pitched low and easy. "Sprouts peeking up from the ground. Maybe we'll have the greenhouse up by then and I can try some flowers."

"Lilies." Jeff's voice was scratched up and rusty.

"Lilies," Jensen agreed. As he shifted to stroke Jeff's forehead, Jeff could see the purple bracers of bruises around Jensen's wrists. "That would be good. I've never seen them."

"Jensen." Jeff tilted his head back, started to push up and away from Jensen and back to a safe distance. Jensen barely touched him, but his restraining hand stopped Jeff dead. "Did I hurt you?"

"Hush, Retriever. It's nothing. Go back to sleep." Jensen hesitated, his throat working, then added, "I'm here now."

Resting his cheek on Jensen's thigh, Jeff sighed and stopped fighting. He'd be sent back into the field soon, the blood and dust, and there couldn't be harm in this. Not in just this. "Will you stay?"

Jensen touched his mouth, a benediction, and said, "Of course I will."


	8. Pitiless As The Sun

The medtech hadn’t given Jeff the okay to resume normal activity. Jeff pointed out immediately that it hadn’t said no activity, either. As if one stupid medtech would have the balls to tell a Retriever no.

Jensen himself struggled to tell Jeff no, and he was relatively sure Jeff wouldn’t tear his throat out. His reluctance had more to do with Jeff’s obvious yearning for a focus. Retrievers were not built to rest.

They hadn’t made it into the Quarter yet, though Jeff had made noises about going back out tomorrow. Instead, courtesy of his mysterious friends, supplies had come to them: piles of strong composite timbers, and clear flexible panels of glassine that were taller than Jeff.

Jeff’s wounds hadn’t stopped him from hauling things up onto their rooftop. He was working on cutting the glassine into pieces now, stripped down to the waist in the cool air as he wielded a cyber knife with a deft hand. It had been Jensen’s job to help hold the long boards of wood for cutting, to insist that his Retriever take breaks to drink the pot of iced tea he’d brewed.

They hadn’t discussed the scene in the bathroom, or what had happened in the Quarter. Jeff had come come smelling of a whore’s cologne, with blood on his wrist and knuckles. Whatever had happened, he hadn’t taken his ease with them.

Jensen shivered, remembering the press of Jeff’s hard cock against his hip.

He’d thought he’d been prepared for whatever his Retriever had wanted to do with him, but Jeff’s embrace had surprised him. Jeff had pressed his face against Jensen’s throat and sniffed, and oh, the scratch of his stubble, the heat of his breath. Jeff had let the rage and the drugs run through him while his iron fingers curled around Jensen’s wrists, squeezing until he felt the bones grind and groan. It had hurt, it should have scared him, but Jensen had thought only, yes.

The bruises were still there, perfect shackles on his wrist. He rubbed one deliberately, the ache and sting. The feeling of it had sunk deep in his stomach, settled into his flesh. It was the first brand his Retriever had given him. It made him feel owned, and that pleased him.

Something had changed between them. An ease that hadn’t been there before. Jensen had looked into the abyss that was his Retriever’s soul, and hadn’t flinched.

Jeff lifted the pane of glassine, sunlight on sweat gilding the lines of his muscles. They might not have gotten much sun in the city’s walls yet, but the ash had burned clear in other places. Jeff was a pleasure to watch, even with the healing pink wound across his stomach, the black stitches like insect legs. He wasn’t bulky like the newer Retrievers, just lean and strong. Jensen had seen how fast he could be when he wanted. If it had been any other Retriever... yes, Jensen would have feared.

He had not feared Weatherly. He had paid for that.

He liked Jeff. He liked the quiet artist that lived under Jeff’s skin, the dry sense of humor and the ready smile. He wished Jeff would let him do more for him--take more of the pain and madness. It would only take one uplink. One touch of their minds, and he could soothe.

Jeff turned, meeting his eyes with a questioning smile, and Jensen realized he had suited deeds to thought and reached for Jeff.

It was on his tongue to apologize for the familiarity, but then Jeff’s barriers slid open to him. Trusting.

The uplink had never been so tempting. Jensen slid in as though he belonged, like he imagined someone might slip into warm ocean waters (when there had been oceans). His mental touch ghosted through Jeff’s surface thoughts, feeling the currents of emotion, his relief at being allowed to move his body in physical labor. The rage lurked beneath Jeff’s superficial thoughts, and Jensen stroked him, settled him. Warmth rose in its place.

And then, Jeff was just there, touching him back; Jensen could almost taste him. It wrapped around him, quieting the call of the Uplink, stroking over him. Jensen started to jerk away, before Jeff could feel what was wrong inside him, but Jeff held him fast. Let Jensen feel his trust, and gratitude, and …. home.

Just like Retriever Prometheus, a traitorous voice murmured in the back of his thoughts.

He quieted it, not wanting Jeff to feel his betrayal. Never a good idea with a Retriever.

Jeff’s contentment settled into him, and Jensen felt his own lips curling into a smile. That quickly, he was back in his body-- the storm clouds of a headache behind his eyes, the lingering bruise at his wrists, the digging distraction of the corset’s boning into his ribs.

Jeff turned back to the wood, tilting his face away.

A few moments later, Jensen felt a deeper brush on his thoughts, and he opened for it.

“Want to help?”Jeff’s mental voice wasn’t much different from his actual voice, unlike a lot of people Jensen had met.

He shoved the thought of his last retriever back again, and nodded. “I’d love to,” he replied, unfolding from the chair that Jeff had parked him in while he used the laser torch. “Tell me what to do.”

Jeff lifted two timbers. “First, we need to set up the frame.”

They worked in concert until the light began to fade and the air began to cool. They succeeded in putting up the frame of the greenhouse, and attaching the first few panels.

Eventually, Jensen became aware of a low ache in his stomach, and a growing sense of cold. A shiver slid down his spine, and he abruptly realized that it wasn’t his sensation. His eyes turned to his Retriever. “I think we’ve done enough for today,” he said.

Jeff made a soft noise of dissent, and picked up another panel of glassine to affix. This time, without Jensen’s help, the pain twisted in his belly sharply.

Jensen deepened the link that neither of them had bothered to close. “Jeff. You’ll hurt yourself. Your stomach is still healing.”

Jeff ignored him with a little grunt, but Jensen felt his frustration and anger at his body’s limitations.

“Retriever.” Jensen moved closer, putting himself within easy reach of a blow. “Stop.” With a silent prayer to the Maiden, he reached out, his fingers brushing over Jeff’s wrist.

His Retriever growled deep in his throat, spinning to face him. In the dimming light, he saw what was sharpening Jeff’s temper. The scratches on his wrist had opened with the activity, and blood flowed down his arm freely.

He didn’t see Jeff move, but suddenly, there was a hand tangled in his hair. Jeff pulled, tilting Jensen’s head back.

‘sobeautifulwhydoeshehavedtobesobeautiful.’ Jeff’s thoughts slid into Jensen’s mind, along with a pulsebeat of need/want that spiked through his body.

A soft chime distracted him’ he watched Jeff blink at the odd feeling of having the Uplink brush his thoughts. Something slid up from Jeff’s mind, but he stifled it quickly, smothering it and hiding before Jensen could get a sense of it. Either way, Jeff let him go, releasing him with a suddenness that would have probably dropped Jensen on his ass if he wasn’t ready for it.

Jensen answered the chime with a tilt of his head. “Yes?”

“There is a package at the front desk for Retriever Bia.”

“Very well. Send it up.”

“It requires the Retriever to come down in person.”

“Will I be sufficient?”

There was a long hesitation. “Yes.”

“Fine. I will be there shortly.”

Jensen gave Jeff a slight smile. “I’ll be right back.”

“No.” Jeff shook his head sharply. “I’ve got it.” Without a word, he stalked to the stairway and headed down into the apartment.

By the time Jensen got moving, he heard the front door close behind his Retriever. Did Jeff think he was unable to fetch a package? Or was it some weird sexual thing that he didn’t want to share. Did Jeff not trust him?

Before he knew what he was doing, the front door was closing behind him, and he was following the faint pull from his connection to Jeff. A slash of rage slid through him, and he doubled his speed. What in the name of the Crone was going on?

The sight that met his eyes when he broke out of the hallway into the main entry way of the Retriever Citadel shouldn’t have startled him. Jeff, still half dressed, but with a stiletto in each  
hand was facing off against three Betas, who had obviously been waiting.

The Citadel’s Concierge laid in a puddle of blood, a package sitting on his desk. Ah. They’d used the opportunity to get Jeff down here. Or him. The thought startled him. What would they have done if he’d come down? He glanced around the room nervously, and found a few other Betas watching the fight with interest. Four in all. He logged their positions, sent it to Jeff on a thin thread, and looked back down at his Retriever.

He’d seen Jeff move in the Introduction room, had seen the inherent violence in his Retriever. This was something entirely different.

In the introduction room, Bia had been calm, controlled. Cold.

This was white-hot rage.

Bia moved like one of the dancers he’d seen lithographs of in Old Earth paintings. But no ballerina had ever moved like this. Every step, every gesture was lethal. The blades whirled in a gleaming song, and every note was death.

The Betas rushed him, and Bia stepped back out of their center, letting them compensate or run into each other. Before the closest to him could recover, Bia’s blade sang, and the Beta crumpled, clutching at his newly pierced throat. A one in a million shot, even for a Retriever

The second Beta, a hulking muscled man who reminded Jensen of the pictures he’d seen of twentieth century professional wrestlers, turned towards Bia. Bia moved again, his foot connecting with the Beta’s ribcage, sending him stumbling back. The third Beta lifted his blade, trying to take advantage of Bia’s turned back. Instead, Bia dropped to his knee, letting the kick’s momentum turn him in a low spin.

The blade glanced off Bia’s temple, and blood streamed from the cut. A scalp wound, Jensen reminded himself. Bound to bleed a lot. Still he took a few steps closer--just in case he was needed.

The third Beta wasn’t as muscled as the second. He seemed to be somewhere in between the two styles of Retriever--neither Bia’s grace nor the second man’s bulk.

The second Beta was on his feet, his blade slashing wildly. He was angry, Jensen noted absently. That wouldn’t help him any in this fight.

The third was the real danger. The man was cold, each move sharp and precisely calculated.

A flash of white from across the room drew Jensen’s attention, and he stilled. A figure in a white hooded robe stood by the statue of the Furies, watching him, instead of the fight unfolding on the floor. Jensen stared back, unnerved by the figure’s silent presence, until Bia’s voice drew him back to the fight.

Bia had turned so that he could see both Betas, his teeth bared in an bloody smile. “Come on, boys,” he taunted. “Let’s finish this dance. I’m getting tired of the song.”

The second beta took the taunt, swinging at Bia’s head in a way that his Retriever couldn’t fail to duck.

Instead, Bia stood there, waiting until the last second. When it came, he moved, his blade slipping between the Beta’s ribs with deadly accuracy. Bia shoved the man off his blade and turned to face the last assailant.

The stilettos made lazy arcs in Bia’s hands. Jensen found himself shivering, wondering what other things those hands would do.

It happened so quickly that Jensen only registered a rush of movement on his left before one of the Retrievers who had been watching the fight was behind him. A burly arm slide around his throat. “I’ve got your Librarian, Bia,” called the Retriever.

To Jensen’s shock, Bia froze. His blades stopped for the first time since Jensen had come down. Across the room, the white robed figure had disappeared.

Jensen squirmed against the restraint, gasping in sips of air. “The penalty for harming another Retriever’s El is-”

“What’s the penalty for harming Prometheus’ whore?” the Retriever growled.

Jensen flinched.

“Traitor. Did you think we didn’t know that you helped him?” The Retriever behind him gave him a little shake, and Jensen felt his teeth clack together.

“I didn’t-- I wouldn’t.” Jensen’s voice choked off as the arm at his throat tightened.

He had survived the Uplink, survived a new Retriever, and this was how it would end? Jensen clawed at the Retriever’s arm, gasping for air. The world spun in front of him, and he saw Bia’s-- Jeff’s stricken face. They would force another El on him.

Jeff was an exceptional Alpha, he shouldn’t be forced into anything.

Maybe he would find the new El more appealing.

It was the thought of Jeff’s hands on another Librarian that spurred Jensen into motion. Librarians weren’t very strong--but they were durable. They had to be, to meet the passion of the Retriever and not break. And he had spent the last two months with Jeff, eating food that wasn’t protein bars, and, at least part of that time, deadlifting his unconscious Retriever.

Jensen kicked back his assailant in the shin. It probably didn’t hurt, but it was enough to startle him. Enough that the arm loosened. He squirmed, shoving up on the Retriever’s arm, until he could sink his teeth in.

The Retriever roared, shoving him forward.

If he tripped now, Jensen thought wildly, he was dead. If he tripped--

He tripped. He hit the floor.

Jensen closed his eyes, waiting for the death blow. At least in his fury, the Retriever would likely give him a swift death.

Above him, Jensen heard a wet noise, followed by two thumps.

There came hands on his shoulders, and he willed himself to fight. He wouldn’t let them kill him. He might die, but he wouldn’t leave Jeff willingly.

Someone gripped him by the arms, trying to lift him; Jensen scrabbled and clawed and hissed, lost in his panic and his no that it took him a few seconds to realize that the person who had him now wasn’t fighting back. They were murmuring to him, “Jen-- Calliope, shh, it’s all right now, they’re dead.”

Jeff. Horrified, Jensen stopped struggling and let Jeff gather him up. He barely heard Jeff growl at the gathered Retrievers, hustling Jensen back to their quarters. It wasn’t so quick that Jensen didn’t see the wreckage.

So much blood. The floor, the walls, all blood. His stomach rolled, and Jensen tried not to breathe the sweet copper scent, like wiring, like metal tables with restraints. The salty taste was foul in his mouth.

Jeff was still quietly assuring Jensen that the Retriever was dead. That they were all dead. Of course Jeff would find that comforting.

The doors to their quarters closed. Jensen wanted to sink down to the floor, but he didn’t want to get blood on the carpet. He didn’t want to have to scrub that out, and Jeff wouldn’t want strangers in his home to do it, and--

“Jensen?” Jeff said sharply. “Are you injured?”

Jensen blinked, coming back to himself. To Jeff, bloody and dirty and alive, and looking very worried.

“I’m undamaged,” he finally said. He took the final step closer and pulled his Retriever close, hearing Jeff’s startled grunt, the low thump of his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin.

His Retriever.


	9. Some Revelation

Jeff stared at the bland walls of the Care Center, submitting to the techs who were bustling around him, putting skin glue on the gash in his head. Jensen sat with him, his lean body pressed against Jeff’s, stroking a hand down his back whenever Jeff started to get antsy about all the people buzzing around him. Their rapid, frightened heartbeats grated against Jeff’s nerves.

He would never say that the fear wasn’t warranted. He could kill them all with less thought than he’d give to choosing a meal.

When the Administrator showed up in the care center, Jeff felt Jensen’s tension, the nervous pulsebeat in the back of his throat. Jeff wanted to kill for him, to rend the flesh from the people around them so that he could present their corpses to Jensen like a trophy.

Jensen’s hand ghosted over his back, and a light touch did the same to his mind. “I’m okay. I just...he isn’t my favorite person,” Jensen murmured. “He interrogated me after--” he fumbled, the link between them thinning as if it would break, and Jeff grabbed it.

“After Prometheus?”

Jensen’s eyelashes swept downwards. “I didn’t know that he was a traitor.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Jeff assured him, hesitated, and then scooped Jensen onto his lap. “I never would have thought otherwise. You’re a good El. Better than he or I deserve.”

The Administrator stopped in front of them. Jensen tried to wriggle to his feet , but Jeff’s hand was like an iron band on his stomach.

“Retriever Bia, Librarian Calliope,” he said, bowing the precise distance allotted to an Alpha retriever. “I regret this incident.”

Jeff raised one eyebrow. “I’m sure. And has my package been recovered?”

“It has. We will need to keep it for evidence-” the Administrator broke off as Jeff growled, throaty and low. “Control yourself, Retriever.”

Jeff felt the temper spike hard, but he pushed it down. “Evidence of what? Am I being prosecuted for protecting my El?”

“No, of course not.” The Administrator’s eyes flickered to Jensen, and Jeff bit back a growl. “But apparently someone holds a grudge against Librarian Calliope. We will open a case file to find those persons and prosecute them. We will provide you with another Librarian while Calliope is evaluated-”

Jeff was snarling even before he felt Jensen flinch from the Administrator. “No. Mine.” He tried to force other, more useful words out, but they were lost under the tidal wave of violence that went through him at the thought of someone taking his Jensen. He bared his teeth, and clutched harder to his El.

The Administrator’s eyes narrowed, and Jeff’s hand went to the stiletto still near his side. He would finish this quick, another eye for an eye--

Pain. Electrified agony screamed through Jeff’s skull; he slid off the seat, grabbing ineffectually at his forehead. It stopped after one burst, and he laid twitching on the floor as Jensen knelt next to him.

He could hear Jensen’s voice, trying to soothe, his quiet words and terrified mind. Everything in Jeff wanted to curl around Jensen, but he couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t catch his breath, or blink away the water that streamed from his eyes.

He felt his body twitching, his lungs heaving ineffectually, without actually drawing any air. It would pass, he knew. The control switch that kept the Retrievers from attacking high level functionaries was painful and terrifying, but they weren’t trying to kill him. Not this time. If he tried again, the Administrator might change his mind.

His contributions to society only bought him so much benevolence. If he outlived his usefulness, he would die.

It was far more likely that the Cybers would kill him, but the Administration took no chances.

The Administrator bent so that Jeff would be sure to hear him, though apparently not so close that he noticed Jensen’s defensive tension. “I am not the fool my predecessor was, Retriever. They granted me your control switch. If you attempt to attack me again, I will take your Librarian and send his face back to you in a plastic bag. Do we understand each other?”

No. No, they wouldn’t kill Jeff. Not right away. Not when they’d just found out how to leverage his good behavior.

Jeff stared up at him through the glaze of fury, memorizing the small details of the Administrator’s features. The better to find him later.

“Do not mistake kindness for weakness, Retriever Bia.” The Administrator paused for a moment, looming down at them. “Very well. You may keep Librarian Calliope. Since the trips you’ve made since accepting him have been well worth the risk, we will grant you some leeway. Do not push us.”

“Thank you,” Jeff gritted out. His jaw hurt from the convulsions. Haltingly, he got to his knees and then to his feet, tugging Jensen up with him. “May we return to quarters?”

They were dismissed with a slight nod, and Jeff looped an arm around Jensen’s shoulder. He hoped that to the watching Betas it looked as though he was comforting his Librarian, instead of Jensen holding him upright.

Their apartment, (and Jeff wasn’t sure when it became theirs) had never seemed so far away. The pain bled away with each step, the jitters of lightning down his spine easing until he could walk on his own. Fucking Administrator.

Jensen was his, and he would kill anyone who thought otherwise.

Jensen made a soft noise in his throat, and Jeff realized that he was holding his El’s wrist almost tight enough to crack bone. He started to loosen his grip and apologize, but then he got a whiff of Jensen’s scent.

Not afraid. Goddess help him, Jensen wasn’t afraid.

He chanced a look at his Librarian, at the wide pupils and the color rising along the pale column of his throat. Jensen’s freckles stood out in sharp contrast. A warm scent, soft musk and amber arousal, wound through his head; Jeff let out a shuddering groan, because he was hard as any weapon for that smell on Jensen’s hot skin. Fighting to let go of Jensen’s wrist, fighting to step back from the edge, he growled.

He could smell Jensen, smell the confusion and the tentative interest, and it drew him. Jensen pulled at Jeff’s need to protect, to possess.

And really, that was part of the problem. Jensen didn’t smell like Jeff, hadn’t absorbed it by being around him. Despite the fight, despite Jensen staying so close, despite Jensen putting himself between Jeff and the Administrator...

Jeff realized that he’d moved before he gave his body permission. He’d pushed Jensen against the door to their apartment, pressing his thigh up between Jensen’s legs. Give him something to grind against, something to ride... Jensen was so hot against him, all that warmth centering down between his thighs. Jeff wanted to rip the fastening of Jensen’s pants open, to mouth his way down the tight knot of his sac, to lick salt from the wet little slit of his dick like precious water in the desert.

As Jeff gripped Jensen tight, he felt all the odd awkward angles beneath Jensen’s clothes. It felt wrong, like the underpinning of a mannequin instead of a man, but Jensen’s quick ragged breathing was all human.

“Fuck, I--Jensen. I need--” Jeff’s hands shook, his killing weapons, and in that moment, he didn’t know if it was restrained sexual need or violence.

Jensen’s hand slid up, brushing against Jeff’s face. The pads of his fingers smelled faintly like blood. “I live to serve you, Retriever,” he murmured, offering the ritual words of submission, of surrender. “Take what you need.” His fingers knotted in Jeff’s hair, pulling his face down.

Jeff resisted for a moment, then bent to take what was offered. Before he could drop a soft kiss on Jensen’s mouth, just a brush of skin, Jensen’s grip tightened, pulling on Jeff’s hair and leaning into the kiss to take Jeff’s mouth. Where Jeff would have gone slow, kept it nice and easy, Jensen deepened the kiss. Jeff licked his way into Jensen’s shockingly hot mouth, tasting Jensen’s pulse on his tongue like a benediction. Blood, just below the pulsebeat of Jensen’s throat, rose. Jeff pulled him closer, shielding Jensen’s smaller body with his own.

In that second, when Jensen’s teeth grazed his lip as he pulled back, Jeff knew he was lost. He would take Jensen as his one day. It had the inevitability of gravity. He could fight his own urges, but he wouldn’t deny Jensen anything.

But not today. Not with the phantom current of the control switch still humming in his body, making him too restless to be slow or kind.

Jeff bent his mouth to the pulsebeat that sang to him, sinking his teeth into Jensen’s throat. It had to hurt, Jeff biting and sucking to leave a mark, until Jensen whimpered and arched towards him. He turned his head to give Jeff more of his throat, surrendering; Jeff hummed his approval and lapped at his mark with the flat of his tongue, catching the metallic rim of the dataport. Jensen made a desperate sound, his nails digging into Jeff’s shoulders before he caught himself and smoothed the fabric down.

Pressing his mouth to Jensen’s ear, Jeff murmured, “Mine.”

“Yes,” Jensen said, his voice raw like he’d been fucked out instead of kissed. “Yes...”

Tomorrow, they would go into the Quarter and shop. Get Jensen new clothes that flattered him, take him to dinner, let one and all see the mark at his throat, just below the pulsing dataport. Let them all see that Jensen was owned. Let them see who owned him.

Tomorrow, he would begin the seduction.


End file.
